


When Doves Cry

by thisisapaige



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canon Compliant, Cas/his djinn wife, Case Fic, Castiel's Empty deal, Coda, Dean Feels, Djinn Dreams, Episode: s15e13 Destiny's Child, I should tag, M/M, Mind Manipulation, POV Alternating, POV Castiel (Supernatural), POV Dean Winchester, Pining, Sharing a Bed, and the, but the most they do is hold hands, cas feels, just a whole lotta feels, technically a, that comes with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23899915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisapaige/pseuds/thisisapaige
Summary: Castiel wakes up and finds himself in a beautiful house with his beautiful wife. That is not his beautiful house and that is certainty not his beautiful wife. Castiel has to be in a dream. Castiel has to wake up. In order to do that, he needs to find something real.Dean stands up and finds himself in a messy bunker with no Cas in sight. There is no way that djinn is Cas's beautiful wife and there is no way she's providing him with a beautiful life. Dean has to find him. Dean has to bring him home. In order to do that, Dean must give Cas something real.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 83





	1. Once in a Lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> You know that feeling when you're working on one project and a completely different idea walks up to you, smacks you in the face, and then suddenly you're creating a new document? Well, here's the result. 
> 
> Anyway, I based this off that one throwaway line that Cas is now technically married to the djinn queen in the Scooby episode because that's the kind of stuff I think about these days. I wrote it like an episode (now with 75% more gay!) so Dean and Cas don't officially get together, but they do promise to talk about it later. And they better! *shakes fist at impending finale*
> 
> You'll get a chapter update a day. There are five! Yay!
> 
> Thanks, everyone! Stay safe and stay awesome. :)

Waking up in and of itself was unusual for Castiel but that was not the strangest thing about the experience. He sat up, the silky white sheets sliding down his naked chest. Bracing his hands on the soft bed below him, Castiel observed the room. Thick curtains blotting out the emerging sunrise covered the widows. Red lights flashed from the bedside table; all zeros blinked on a digital clock display. Two closets, side by side, sat closed on the wall beyond the table. A large flat screen television took up the wall directly in front of him, a black hole on a white wall. All of the evidence told him he was in some kind of suburban bedroom. A very white, very clean suburban bedroom.

That did not, however, explain why he was in the bedroom. It did not explain why he was not alone. 

Castiel supposed the woman beside him could be considered beautiful, if one were inclined to feel that way. She curled on her side, eyes closed in peaceful sleep. Her thick black hair cascaded down her back, nearly obscuring the elaborate tattoos twisting around her arm and up her shoulder. The lines continued further but Castiel could not see them as they disappeared under her gold nightdress. 

Castiel had never seen her before in his life. 

Or had he?

His head felt light. His hands were numb. He had no idea how he ended up here or where to go. 

But he did not think he should remain.

The woman stirred before Castiel could act. She reached out, her touch gentle on Castiel’s clenched fist. Castiel yanked his hand away. 

“Castiel?” The woman sat up. Castiel did not look at her. “What’s the matter, dear?”

A dark shadow swam across Castiel’s vision. He pressed his fingers against his eyes but it did not scrub away the feeling of _wrongness_ which overtook him. 

“Don’t call me that,” Castiel muttered.

“Oh, Cas,” the woman said, “you’re so grumpy before your coffee. Don’t worry, I’ll get a pot on soon.”

That did not feel right. None of it felt right. The woman climbed out of bed and strode to the window. She threw open the curtains, filling the bedroom with early morning sun. She grinned at Castiel’s groan, her teeth bright white against her olive skin. 

“Good morning, sunshine!” She returned to the bed as she sang the words. She sat cross-legged in front of Castiel and leaned in close, her hair brushing over Castiel’s arms. When Castiel’s dismissive grunt did nothing to deter her, he lowered his hand and looked her in the eye. 

Her eyes were green. Castiel found that comforting, though he could not be sure why. Her eyes crinkled at the edges when she smiled. Castiel could not help but answer with one of his own.

“There he is.” The woman placed a soft kiss on Castiel’s cheek. “I better get started on that coffee.”

Castiel waited until the woman left the room to wipe his cheek. A glint upon his finger caught his eye. He splayed his fingers wide and held his hand before his face.

A wedding ring. 

He rotated his hand back and forth, the gold metal glittering in the sunlight. It remained on his hand no matter how long he stared at it. No matter how long he stared at it, it did not feel any less out of place. 

The plush carpet tickled Castiel’s bare feet when he stood from the bed and crossed the room. He chose a closet at random, jumping back when he opened it. Various dresses, blouses, and silk nightclothes greeted him. He sighed in relief, though he did not know what else he was expecting in a dark closet. He closed it and opened the other one, revealing clothes marketed towards men. Castiel assumed these items were meant for him and selected a pair of black slacks and a white button up to replace his sleep pants. 

Now dressed, Castiel located the door and entered the hallway. He found a bathroom, two empty bedrooms, and a disused office. The closet at the end of the hall contained cleaning items and half-emptied moving boxes. Castiel checked each one, but he found nothing more than cookware and empty picture frames. What else he expected to find, he did not know. Whether he was relieved he did not find it or disappointed, he did not know. 

Castiel descended the stairs, his steps quiet and careful. A overstuffed couch, with matching loveseat and chair, pointed toward the living room fireplace. Lamps with stained glass shades sat on the end tables and large, glossy photo books sat in a stack on the coffee table. Castiel ran his hand over the backrest of the armchair as he approached the fireplace. 

Pictures covered the mantle. Pictures of Castiel and the woman.

“There you are.” The woman’s ring shone as she handed Castiel a coffee mug. Black. Strong. Just the way Castiel liked it. She rested her warm hand on the small of Castiel’s back. Castiel did not push her away. “Remembering our greatest hits?”

“I--” Castiel picked up the photo directly in front of him. He saw himself in the centre of the couch, the exact same one behind him, brow furrowed. On one side of him, the woman clung to his arm with a glowing, happy smile. A severe, bearded man sat on the other side, his arms crossed and body pointed away from Castiel. “Yes. This one was--”

The woman laughed. “Oh, Father hated you at first, but you won him over. I mean, who wouldn’t be charmed by you?”

Castiel stared down at the photo. A vision of a camera and an older woman floated to the forefront of his mind. The older woman chastised the man in Arabic until he sat down beside Castiel. She only managed to take the one photo. 

“Your mother took this,” Castiel said, the words ringing true as he said them.

“She was always on your side,” the woman said. She rested her head on Castiel’s shoulder. “I miss them.”

“As do I.” Castiel replaced the photo on the mantle. 

He sipped his coffee, looking over each photo in turn. There were pictures of him and the woman on the beach, in a restaurant, in an embrace before the doorway of their house. 

Yes. Their house. Their home. Their life.

Bright green eyes stared up at Castiel. For a moment, it was not the woman staring up at him but someone else. The uneasiness faded when he blinked and he saw his wife, his Amira, smiling at him. 

“Cas?” his wife asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied. “I just had a strange dream, I suppose.”

“Really? What was it about?”

“Forgetting. Forgetting those important to me.”

“Well that’s just silly,” Amira said, taking Castiel’s now empty mug from his hand. “Don’t worry, dear, I’ll take care of you. Even if you forget me.” She squeezed Castiel’s hand as she slipped away. Before she turned the corner to the kitchen she looked back at Castiel with a teasing grin. “I mean, someone has to make you coffee in the morning.”

As soon as Amira left the living room, Castiel’s uneasiness returned. He frowned at the photos, studying them in minute detail. Every one of them were bright and saturated with colour. In every one of them, Amira wore the same thing. 

Wait. No, That was wrong. Castiel must have had sleep still in his eyes because, once he blinked, the photos were completely normal. A normal record of his normal, peaceful life with his loving wife. 

Then why, if his life was so normal, so peaceful, and so loving, did Castiel feel like something was missing?

Another photo sat behind the others. Castiel must have missed it, as there was no way it could have appeared out of nowhere. He grabbed it, its golden frame glowing, and stared. 

How could he have forgotten?

*

Castiel knocked on the door at the end of the hall. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat while he waited for an answer. He glanced down the hallway, expecting to see four doors, but there were five.

Oh. No. Castiel was mistaken. There were four doors. He must be tired. 

The door opened and Castiel pushed his disorientation away. He smiled.

“Dad,” Jack said, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Yes, I know,” Castiel said. 

“Well, come in.” Jack waved a hand toward the interior of his apartment.

Castiel entered the small studio apartment. The kitchen was a few steps away from the living space which was a single step away from the bed. Adding in the closet sized bathroom, Castiel could see the whole place from the doorway. The size mattered little to Jack. He loved it the moment he stepped into it. Castiel and Amira had no problem paying for it. Jack had made it into university on a full ride. It was the least they could do.

Jack moved the stack of books on his desk chair onto the floor, indicating to Castiel he should sit down. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

Castiel sat. He eyed the books on the floor, unable to make out the titles. He wished he could. Perhaps he could have figured out Jack’s major, or what university he attended. 

Should not a father, even an adoptive father, know that?

Jack returned with a steaming mug in hand. Black coffee. Just the way he liked it. After Castiel took the mug, Jack smoothed the blankets on his bed in order to sit. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his face earnest and open.

“No work today?” Jack asked.

“I work?” Castiel cleared his throat. “Of course I work. I’m starting later.”

“Well, I guess that’s what happens when you’re the boss. Right, dad?”

Castiel wrapped his hands around his coffee mug, watching the black surface ripple in the moving air. He surveyed the room, seeking out the source of the wind. Had that window above the bed always been open?

“Did you call me dad?” Castiel asked.

“No,” Jack said. “That would be strange.”

“Yes, very strange.” 

“Really, though, Cas. Why are you here?”

Castiel’s cup was empty. He did not remember drinking it. He rolled the mug between his palms. “Are you well?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you happy? At peace?”

Castiel set his mug on the desk behind him, then focused his attention on Jack. Jack’s face was blank. He did not move at all. He appeared to be frozen in time. Castiel pushed down the strange feeling which overwhelmed him as he stared at his son’s unchanging state. Jack was caught off guard, of course. Castiel’s question was sudden, blunt, and in desperate need of an answer. If only Castiel knew what answer he sought.

“I am.” Jack smiled. “I enjoy my studies. I enjoy my life. I am happy.”

Relief flooded over Castiel, washing away any unease he felt at the stilted words. He reached behind him for his coffee cup. Black. Just the way he liked it.

“Good,” Castiel said. “I suppose I should head to work in order to keep it that way.”

Castiel stood and headed to the exit. He finished his coffee as he moved. Jack joined him.

“Nice to see you, Cas,” Jack said as he opened the door.

Castiel stepped through it. “Yes. I’m glad you’re at peace.”

The door clicked shut behind Castiel. The mug was warm in his hands. The coffee in it was black.

Just the way he liked it.

*

Castiel worked in a place called Sandover. The whole day, the building shifted and shook. None of his faceless staff noticed. Castiel could not help but feel like the Sandover building was formed from a dream, one described to him by someone else.

By whom?

He did not return home after work. He walked out of the Sandover building and into a place called the Roadhouse. At first, the building was pitch black. When he entered the establishment, however, it turned into a bar. Castiel pushed his way through throngs of people to reach the bartender, who set a beer bottle in front of him without a word. It tasted flat.

People were supposed to have faces. Castiel thought as much, but, when he spun his stool to watch the crowd, all their faces were obscured by shadow. The more he watched them, the darker and more indistinct the crowd became. 

Light faded. 

Darkness invaded.

Castiel raised his bottle and drank through it all. 

The door opened. Castiel did not look up. Hands held his face.

“Castiel?” Green eyes scrutinized him. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. You aren’t human. You shouldn’t be fading this quickly.”

Castiel tried to focus on the green eyes. They brought him comfort. 

“De--” Castiel’s tongue was thick. It was hard to form words.

“Yes, dear?”

The voice was wrong, but the eyes. The eyes were green.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered.

The eyes disappeared for a long moment. 

“I see,” the voice said. The wrong voice. “Don’t worry, dear. After you heal, we’ll do this again. I’ll do it right this time. Just rest, Cas. When you awaken, everything will be peaceful. You’ll be happy.”

Dark.

*

Waking up in and of itself was unusual for Castiel but that was not the strangest thing about the experience.


	2. Good Times Bad Times

Man, Dean should get one of those extending dusters. That way, he could get all those cobwebs up on the bunker’s ceiling. He could see them now, flat on his back like this. You know, sometimes good things can come from being attacked by yet another supernatural being in the supposedly warded bunker’s library.

He fixed that warding, damn it. He did!

“Everyone alright?” Sam called from somewhere behind the upended table blocking Dean’s view.

“I’m fine,” Jack said.

Jack sounded chipper. Maybe he was enjoying those super powers. Dean bet that Jack didn’t have a single bruise. Oh well, chipper was better than the constant depression of the last week. Re-ensoulment had been hard on the kid.

Dean had bruises. Oh, did he ever have bruises. He groaned as he rolled onto his side.

Ugh, he was getting too old for this.

“Dean?” Sam asked. “You still with us?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean gripped the table and hauled himself upright. “I’m fantastic.”

Papers rustled under Sam’s feet as he stood, his head popping up over the table. Jack walked out from behind a bookcase. Dean gave them a once over. Both of them were a little shaken. Nothing appeared wrong with Jack. Sam probably felt the standard hunter aches and pains. He would be totally insulted if Dean ran over and checked. Dean wanted to do it anyway. 

Well, that was two accounted for. Dean spun around to check behind him. Great. He was _so_ going to need way more than a duster to fix the mess. Dean didn’t have a whole lot of time to worry about that, though, because there was no one behind him. 

“Cas?” Dean checked around the corner to the war room. “C’mon buddy, where’d you go?”

No answer. 

Dean glanced behind him and locked eyes with Sam. They both thought the same thing. Cas wasn’t home. 

The good news was that only one table was knocked over. Mechanically, Dean walked to the intact table, plopped down, and sank into the seat. Jack asked a question but Dean couldn’t figure out the words. Sam answered but Dean didn’t hear it. Dean stared, unblinking at the wall before him, grit his teeth, and tried to think.

Dean hadn’t seen much. He remembered the door blowing open. He remembered ripping the gun free from its tape under the library table and rushing out to stop the intruder. He remembered flying across the library before he had the chance to leave the room. His back was the main reason the other table was on its side. The table was the main reason Dean had a bunch of new bruises. 

Around the time Dean was trying to figure out if the monster stole his lungs or if they were just broken, the rest of the bunker’s inhabitants came to investigate. There was a lot of shouting and a lot of things that sounded like fighting. Dean couldn’t be entirely sure. He might have been hallucinating from the lack of oxygen. 

Yeah. That must have been it. Which was why Dean couldn’t have heard it. Deep down, Dean knew. Of course he knew because he knew Cas and Cas--

“Cas knew her,” Dean said. 

Dean blinked and nearly fell out of his seat when Sam materialized in the chair before him. Apparently, Jack sat right beside Sam. Wow. Dean was great at situational awareness. 

Sam launched Dean bitchface number thirty-five, which meant Dean interrupted him mid-sentence. It didn’t stop Dean from continuing his thought. “Okay, but has Cas even mentioned a super powered girlfr-- uh, friend that happens to be a girl?”

Bitchface number five: you’re acting like Dean, Dean. While Dean could feel Jack watching the whole scene with a familiar air of confused innocence, Dean couldn’t look at him. Jack took three days to come out of his room after he got his soul back. The big prize fight was on the horizon and Jack needed to be functional. Dean didn’t want to be the reason Jack went on another spiral. Therefore, Dean was completely justified in his avoidance. Yeah.

Sam shook his head. Dean assumed Jack did, too. 

“Did anybody get a good look at her? I was kinda busy rearranging the furniture,” Dean said.

“I got thrown,” Sam said.

“She was tall and had long hair,” Jack said.

To the tabletop in front of Jack’s hands, Dean asked, “Did she try anything on you?”

“Yes, but Cas stopped her.”

Right. Because of course Cas would put himself between any source of danger and Jack. 

“Was there anything weird about her?” Sam asked. “Like, glowing eyes or sharp teeth?”

“No,” Jack replied. “Wait. Would a tattoo count as weird?”

“It could. How would you describe it?”

“Um, big. On her arm. It moved.”

“What?” Dean’s chair scraped across the floor. He instantly regretted leaping up that fast when his aching body screamed in protest. He sat back down, playing it cool. “You’re telling me a djinn got the jump on us? On Cas?”

Sam tapped his fingers on the table. “Can a djinn even do anything to an angel?” 

“Who knows,” Dean said, pushing his hair back from his forehead, “the rules have been all messed up lately.” He sighed. “Well, whatever. We’re gonna have to find him.”

Dean made the mistake of looking at Jack, who squirmed in his seat. All that power and Jack couldn’t use it. Billie hadn’t come calling yet. Dean had a feeling she wouldn’t take them skirting the rules for a second time as well as last time. And she hadn’t taken it that well. 

Sam laid a comforting hand on Jack’s arm. “See if you can find anything useful in the stacks.”

Jack nodded and scurried towards the shelves. At the last moment, he faced Sam and Dean, glancing between them. 

“One more ‘weird’ thing,” Jack said, air quotes and all, “about the djinn. She called Cas ‘husband.’ That counts, right?”

Husband. 

Husband? 

Hold on.

_Husband!_

The sound which emitted from Dean wasn’t one he ever heard before. Judging by his wide eyed stare, Sam never heard it either. A tiny, tiny part of Dean’s brain registered Sam standing, whispering to Jack, and ushering him out of the room. 

When the hell did Cas get married? How? Most importantly, _why?_ Shouldn’t she have asked Dean permission? Wait. Was that even a thing for djinn? Or angels?

Should’ve asked Dean anyway. 

“Hello. Earth to Dean!” 

Batting away Sam’s hand, Dean grumbled, “Yeah, yeah. What?”

“You gonna help us find Cas or are you gonna throw yourself a pity party?”

“I can do both. I’m a multitasker.”

Sam snorted. 

“You know this is the second time Cas married someone?” Dean threw his hands in the air. “You think he’d invite us. Or ask you to be best man.”

“Yeah.” Sam lowered his eyebrows. “Wait. Why would _I_ be best man?” 

Oh. Whoops. 

“Sorry.” Dean’s exaggerated eye roll was probably overkill but it did make Sam glare. “Maid of honour.”

No reaction. Sam headed into the library without another word. Fair enough, it was a terrible joke. Well, it was less of a joke and more a defense mechanism

Hey. Dean could be self aware. At least, when he wanted to. 

With no one around to see it, Dean let himself sink further down into his chair. He hid his face in his hands and tried to breathe through his bruised lungs. 

Just when they were finally starting to talk after their falling out, Dean lost Cas. Again. No matter how many times that happened, it never got easier. In fact, it got harder. Every single time, Dean had the same thought.

 _I never told him_.

Well, at least this time Cas hadn’t been blown up by an archangel, or melted in a reservoir, or stabbed by the devil, or decided to store his angel batteries in a damn flask to take a Sunday stroll through the Empty. That last one was high on the list titled ‘Cas’s Greatest Stupid Hits.’ There was a Top Ten and everything. 

Dean wiped his eyes, released a deep breath, and got on his feet. This time it was just a djinn. Dean could handle one djinn. Then, once Dean saved Cas’s ass, Dean could finally tell him.

Maybe.

Possibly.

He’d try.

It had been over ten freaking years, okay! If Dean messed it up, he’d be throwing a lot away.

But he’d do it.

Maybe.

*

Rowena to the rescue yet again. Sam found some kind of locating spell in her notes that, if slightly modified, should be able to find Cas. He tried to explain it but Dean didn’t care about the specifics, just that it worked. At this rate, Sam could be considered a witch’s apprentice.

Huh. Did that weird Dean out?

“Okay,” Sam said, staring down at the map and crystals laid out over the library table, “all we need now is something Cas owns.” 

Of all the things to happen in the last thirty-six hours, it was Sam’s words that put Dean off balance. Dean couldn’t think of anything that Cas owned that wasn't his blade, trench coat, or the broken cell phone that Dean couldn’t track; hence the spell. Everything Cas owned he carried on his person. He didn’t leave dirty plates on the kitchen table, or hung pictures on the wall, or left a book on the couch. Dean never thought about it before but Cas never moved into the bunker. 

Dean remembered, all those years ago, when he told Cas he couldn’t stay. Dean always regretted that. He wondered if Cas still took it to heart. If he did, that would explain a lot actually. 

Oh shit. 

“Oh! I know,” Jack said. “One second.”

Jack hurried out the room, returning with a mug in hand. He set it on the table. The mug, made of thick ceramic and poorly painted, had a pattern of blue and yellow flowers trailing across the green backdrop. Dean couldn’t recall, not once, ever seeing it in Cas’s hands. 

“That belongs to Cas?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, um…” Jack rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Sam from the corner of his eye. “In the morning, when you guys are still sleeping, I like to have breakfast. Sometimes Cas will join me. He makes coffee.”

“ _Cas_ was making the coffee?” Dean glanced at Sam. “I thought that was you.”

“I thought it was you,” Sam said.

“I’m not the manic who goes _running_ ”-- Dean shuddered at the word-- “at ass o’clock in the morning.”

“It’s good for you.” Sam turned back to the spell components. He grabbed the mug. “This will work. Thanks, Jack.”

Jack smiled, pleased. He stepped back, giving Sam room to work his magic.

Sam placed candles at the four corners of the map and lit them with a single match. Then, he took the mug and set it between the top two candles. That completed, Sam picked up a long pendulum and held it over the centre of the map. In his best, most booming Latin reciting voice, Sam chanted the spell. 

The candles flickered. The pendulum swung in a perfect circle around the map. Over and over, Sam recited the spell, his voice growing wearier with each repetition. Dean chewed his bottom lip, waiting for the pendulum to reveal Cas’s location.

Sam shouted the final word once again. This time, the candles blazed high enough to make Dean worry about the ceiling and the pendulum stopped, the chain taut as it indicated a town. Dean leaned forward to get a better look.

“There.” Sam pointed on the map, dropping the pendulum. “Great Bend. Guess our djinn didn’t feel like going far.”

“Sweet!” Dean rubbed his hands together. “Time to find an abandoned factory or six.”

The war room was less of a mess, so Dean set up his laptop there. He went right to work, searching for the most likely places a djinn would hide an angel. He would pick a big, open, forgotten factory and, now that he had a mental image, Dean didn’t like the thought of Cas being trapped in one. Dean’s fingers itched to curl around Impala’s steering wheel. He itched to be on his way, on his way to bring Cas home. 

When Sam caught Dean bowing over his laptop, doing research without a word of complaint, his eyes threatened to bug out of his head. Dean didn’t waste his time with a sarcastic remark. 

“Wow.” Sam slid a red jar of what Dean assumed to be lamb’s blood across the table. “Right to it, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, focused on his screen, “it’s Cas.”

“Fair enough. I think the silver blades are still in the trunk.”

“Awesome.” Dean snapped the laptop lid shut. He took the jar, still cold from the fridge. Yeah. They had a fridge for blood. It was a vital component for a lot of spells. “Hey, get the kid to fix the library when I’m gone. He’s young and healthy and able to lift that big ass table without throwing his back out.”

Dean made a move to stand up, but Sam pushed him back down. Sam used his overgrown body to his advantage, looming behind Dean. Sighing, Dean rolled his head back to see Sam’s face and, yep, he wore the puppy dog eyes. Damn it.

“You’re not planning to do this on your own, are you?” Sam asked in a tone that made clear he didn’t want to hear Dean’s bullshit.

Licking his lips, Dean considered his answer. “Yeah. I am. ‘Cause someone’s gotta stay with the kid. He just got his soul back and needs someone to look after him. He’ll probably want to talk about soullessness and feelings and shit. And I am _so_ not the guy with the experience to help him with that.”

Sam clicked his tongue and opened his mouth but no words came out. He shifted his head from side to side, then sighed. “You’re right.” 

“Oh wow. Wanna say that again? I’ll record it this time so I can hold this moment over you forever.”

“Shut up.” Sam released his hold on Dean. “If you’re not back within two days, I’m coming after you no matter what, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

Less than an hour later, Dean was on the road. Less than three hours later, he was in Great Bend. 

*

The blood-coated blade secure in his inner coat pocket, Dean approached his third abandoned factory of the night. This particular building was further out in the middle of nowhere, so he had high hopes that he would finally find something. He better find something. Two days had officially passed when the sun went down. Dean didn’t know how long it would take for Cas to bleed out and he really didn’t want to find out.

Stalking through the dust covered floors, Dean checked every corner, every nook, and every cranny of the factory. He opened the next door and a dark mass flew at his face. Gun already drawn and ready, Dean laughed when he figured out it was a bird. 

“Be free little guy,” Dean whispered. “Be free.”

He continued the search, heading for the back of the building. He approached the final room, gun in one hand and knife in the other. The door stood ajar, so Dean eased it open with his foot. When he stepped into the room, it was as if he were transported into a different dimension. 

Red tapestries blanketed the walls, embroidered in gold, and a hand woven rug covered the floor. A long table rested in the middle of the room, covered in medical supplies. At the front of the room, Dean found Cas. 

Dean expected to see Cas strung up by the rafters with a tube in his arm and a blood bag at his side. What he didn’t expect to see was Cas lounging on a fancy throne-like chair, hooked up to IV bag full of medicine. If Dean didn’t know about the djinn, he would’ve sworn Cas was sleeping. 

“Cas?” Dean put his weapons away and rushed to Cas’s side. He took Cas’s face in his hands, feeling his cold skin. “Cas, hey. I made it. Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Cas didn’t reply. Dean ran his thumbs down Cas’s cheekbones. Cas was too damn pale. Cas should never be that pale. Okay. Time to get him home. 

Before Dean could haul Cas up onto his shoulder and run like hell, a voice called out from behind him. “Dean. You’ve finally decided to join us.”

Whipping around and pulling his knife out in the same motion, Dean faced the djinn. He held out the knife, taking a few steps forward to hide Cas from view.

“You let me walk outta here with him and I won’t stab you in the face.”

“Oh Dean, you need to hit the heart, remember?” The djinn opened her arms wide, her red sleeveless blouse, tucked into her skirt, revealing her tattoo. “I don’t want to kill you. And, before you ask, I don’t want to harm Cas, either.”

“Cas? Getting a bit familiar there.” 

“Of course I’m familiar. I’m his wife.”

The blade in Dean’s hand trembled. “What? How?”

“He needed fruit from the Tree of Life and it was the only way he could retrieve it.” The djinn advanced toward Dean, her movements slow and careful. When Dean tried to cut her off, she sighed. “We can fight later if you want. I just want to check on Cas.”

She tilted her head back, her green eyes boring into Dean. The force of will behind them and the fact that Dean didn’t sense any malice in her made him step aside. She checked Cas’s IV line and pressed a gentle hand against his forehead. When she pulled back, she smoothed Cas’s hair back from his forehead. The gesture made Dean’s stomach churn. 

“So,” Dean said, “what’s with the fancy room?”

“What?” The djinn flipped her hair over her shoulder, the long dark strands concealing her tattoo. “You think we all live in squalor?”

“Uh, yeah. This _is_ an abandoned building.”

“Well, my palace is a bit far and I was worried I wouldn’t have enough time.”

“Enough time?”

“The end is coming.” The djinn backed away from Cas, rotating her whole body to face Dean head on. “And I believe, this time, it’s for real. I can hear billions upon billions of dreams end as worlds are destroyed. I don’t know when we’ll follow them.” 

“Wait. You can hear them?”

The djinn narrowed her eyes and studied Dean for a long moment. “You are not surprised. That means you know.” She leaned into Dean’s space, the knife doing nothing to stop her. “Yes. I can hear them. I am the queen of all djinn. My powers are more vast than you could ever know.” She darted forward and seized hold of Dean’s wrist, forcing the blade out of his hand. “You’ll need more than that to stop me.”

The instant the djinn touched his skin, Dean’s limbs grew heavy. An overwhelming sense of tiredness weighed him down. He struggled to keep his eyes open, to keep his eyes on the djinn.

“What,” Dean forced through his lips, “do you want with Cas?”

“He was kind to me,” the djinn said. “He told me the truth: that he only wanted to do the ceremony for the fruit, that he would not remain, that he would not know me as a husband would know his wife. I truly believe he would have walked away if I did not accept that.”

Dean dropped to his knees. The djinn broke his fall, easing him gently down onto the floor.

“I respected his terms. I still respect his terms. He may not be my mate, but he is still my husband. He doesn’t deserve to die in a world ending calamity. He deserves to die happy and in peace.”

The djinn eased Dean onto his back and helped him cross his arms over his chest. Dean fought against the fatigue. The djinn’s green eyes swam across his vision. 

“Everything I’ve done hasn’t worked. Every time he has asked for you. I will try, one last time, to give him what he wants.” A hand touched Dean’s face. Dark hair brushed across his skin. The djinn’s breath was hot when she spoke in Dean’s ear. “Welcome to the end.”


	3. Comfortably Numb

“Hello? Is there anybody in there?”

Clawing his way out from waves of darkness, Castiel awakened. He rubbed at his eyes, opening them to see Amina’s face shimmer into focus. She smiled down at him. Castiel grumbled and struggled to sit up from the couch. 

“Just nod if you can hear me,” Amina said with amusement in her voice. When Castiel followed her command, she pushed a full, steaming mug of fresh black coffee in his hands. Just the way he liked it. “I still can’t believe that’s your favourite mug.”

Castiel wrapped his hands around the warm mug, tracing the pattern of flowers. “It’s all I own.”

Amina sighed, then pushed at Castiel’s leg until he made enough room for her to sit on the couch. “You know you could have more than that, right? You deserve more than that.” At Castiel’s shrug, Amina placed her hand on his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “All I want is for you to be happy.”

The swirling steam from the coffee reminded Castiel of smoke. “I’m not sure if that’s wise.”

“What’s not wise?”

“Being happy.”

The coffee warmed Castiel as he sipped it, the hot liquid pooling in his core. It was a comfort but it did not fill him. Nothing in Castiel’s life suggested he should be unfulfilled: he had a caring wife, a nice house, a decent job. Yet, every one of those things felt wrong, like they were not his, like they were parts of someone else’s dream. He sleep walked through his days, going through the motions expected of him, with a hole inside him. Each day, he wondered if he was the only real thing amongst the ocean of someone else’s thoughts.

“Something always holds you back,” Amina said. “What would it take for you to make a leap of faith?”

There was wisdom in Amina’s words and real concern in her clear green eyes. Castiel covered her hand with his own. The touch was a comfort but it did not fill him. He leaned his head against the couch’s backrest and tried to convince himself it was enough.

*

Castiel did not like his job. Sandover was a poor fit and calculating the corporation’s finances all day felt pointless. There was no human connection. There was no helping others. There was only the spreadsheet. 

Castiel went through the day because he was supposed to, because he had nothing real to complain about, because he did not know what else to do. 

After work, Castiel entered the Roadhouse. He did not want to return to the house he shared with Amina. He did not want to see her smiling face and feel nothing. He did not want to feel that emptiness, that sense he did not belong.

The packed Roadhouse buzzed in anticipation. Every patron faced the stage at the back of the building, their drinks held high and their voices raised higher. Castiel shoved his way through them on his way to the bar, taking care not to look anyone in the eye because, when people looked back at him, Castiel never saw any awareness behind their gaze.

Castiel claimed the last empty bar stool, his back to the stage. He ordered a beer and barely touched it. A woman smiled at him from the El Sol label as he peeled it away, wondering if he could find anything behind her eyes. She was just a photo. Nothing real. 

The crowd whistled and hollered behind Castiel. The bar lights dimmed and the stage lights flared. A man spoke into the microphone but his words were drowned out by the sound of the crowd. Castiel paid the changes no mind, picking at the sticky residue left behind on his bottle. Too much noise and too many empty faces. Castiel finished off his drink and readied himself to leave. Before he made it to his feet, the man began to sing.

Turning in his stool to watch the stage, Castiel found something real.

The man stood alone in the centre of the stage, the spotlight shining off the acoustic guitar slung over his shoulders. He sang, the sounds of the words and the rhythm of the melody speaking to a dormant emotion hidden deep in Castiel’s heart. Castiel could not look away. 

At the song’s end, Castiel joined the applause. The man rubbed the back of his neck, smiling shyly to his feet, the stage lights highlighting the blush on his cheeks.

“Thanks,” the man said. He strummed a chord. “My name’s Dean and this next song is one I wrote myself. I call it Fallen Angel.”

Dean’s voice hypnotized the audience. Even the bartender leaned over his workspace to get a closer look. Dean weaved a story about an angel who rescued a human from Hell. The angel fell from Heaven, cast away everything and everyone he knew in order to save the human. The song ended with the human’s lament. The angel was unknowable, untouchable, and the human cast him away again and again. The human could never tell the angel the truth. The human never told him--

The song ended. The audience sat in dazed silence before breaking into raucous applause. Dean scanned over the crowd with shining eyes, coming to rest on Castiel. 

The dream faded away. For a moment, Castiel saw nothing other than Dean. 

The bar returned. Castiel pressed a hand to his heart and turned back to the bar. He ordered another drink and heard none of the following acts. 

A new bottle appeared before him. Before he could tell the bartender he never ordered it, a new patron slipped onto the stool beside him.

“Hey,” Dean said. “Your drink looked empty so I got you a new one.”

Dean held up his whiskey glass. When Castiel’s response was a tilted head, Dean grinned and wiggled his glass, jerking his head toward Castiel’s bottle. Oh, right.

“Cheers?” Castiel tapped his bottle against Dean’s glass, the touch too light to produce a sound. 

Dean chucked. “You got it, buddy.”

They took a drink. When Castiel looked up, he caught Dean watching him with soft green eyes.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said. 

“Do I know you?” Dean leaned forward, chin in hand as he continued to study Castiel. “What’s your name?”

“Castiel.”

“Yeah. That feels right.” Dean’s attention drifted to Castiel’s mouth before returning to Castiel’s eyes. Dean licked his lips. “So, Cas, do you come here often?”

“No, I don’t.” Castiel’s blunt tone made Dean’s grin falter. Unsure as to why Dean began to turn away, Castiel scrambled to find something to say in order to engage him. “Is it real?”

Dean’s attention returned. “What?”

“Your song. Fallen Angel. Is it real?”

“I don’t know about _everything_ , but--” Dean finished his whiskey. “Well, what do you think? Art’s all about interpretation, right?” 

“I think the human doesn’t understand the angel’s actions.” Castiel paused, searching for the right words to describe the right feeling. Dean shifted closer, nodding for Castiel to continue. With Dean’s green eyes filling his senses, Castiel knew the words he spoke were real. “The angel didn’t save the human because of duty. He didn’t leave Heaven to stay by the human’s side out of obligation.”

“Okay,” Dean prompted when Castiel did not continue, “then why did the angel do it?” 

“Love.”

“Love?”

“Yes. The angel left everything he knew behind to be with the human. He made a leap of faith. For an angel, that action means everything.”

“And you think it was because of love?”

“It’s why I would do it.”

Castiel faced the bar, taking a drink to cover the shake in his hands. What Castiel said was real. He knew it in his heart. What he did not know was why he felt so strongly over a song. From the corner of his eye, Castiel could see Dean watching him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

“Hey, Cas?” Dean waited until Castiel looked his way before he continued, “Do you wanna get out of here?”

Even Castiel knew what that meant. His left hand held his now empty bottle, a ring shining on his finger. 

“I believe I should inform you that I’m married.”

“Oh.” Dean’s eyes widened. “ _Oh._ I’m sorry. I’m just gonna--”

Almost of its own accord, Castiel’s hand caught Dean’s wrist to keep him from leaving. “Your company is not unwelcome.”

“Okay.” Dean returned to his seat and Castiel released him. Dean leaned back and folded his hands in his lap. “Did I make this awkward? I feel like I made this awkward.”

“I don’t think it’s awkward. As long as you know I’m not going to--”

“Yeah! Yeah, I got it!” Dean jumped up, hand outstretched with his palm up and open. When Castiel gave him no reaction, Dean calmed. “If you want, I can walk you home. Uh-- Just walking, promise.”

“I’d like that.”

*

Castiel entered the house, Dean close behind him, and doubted it was his home. It should be his home but, when he led Dean into the pristine chef’s kitchen, Castiel felt like it was wrong. He felt like the large, airy windows should not be there, that the table should have built-in stools, that there should be multiple fridges stocked with beer, blood, and week old takeout. 

Dean whistled. “Nice digs.”

“To some, perhaps.” Castiel leaned against the kitchen island. “To me it feels incorrect.”

“Really? I would’ve killed to grow up in a place like this instead of being dragged into every motel from one end of the country to the other.”

“With your brother.”

“Yeah.” Dean rubbed his chin. “Wait. Did I tell you about Sam?”

He had not. The white tiles under Castiel’s feet shifted, flashing black. When Castiel blinked, they went back to their original state. He ran both hands through his hair in order to keep his light head from floating away.

“Cas? Hey, you alright? You look pale.”

Dean’s hands rested on Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel raised his head, using Dean’s green eyes to ground him. The house around him, the people he passed by on the street, even his own marriage felt wrong, felt fake, felt empty. Dean was real. 

“Do you ever feel like you’re living in a dream?” Castiel asked.

“Well, I always wanted to be a rock star.”

“You're not.”

“Thanks.”

“It doesn’t feel right. None of this does.” Castiel brought his hands to Dean’s face. The ring on his finger faded away. “Except you.”

The glasses rattled in the cabinets. The bright overhead light dimmed. The darkness crawled into the edge of Castiel vision. 

Dean’s eyes darted around the disintegrating kitchen. “Cas, what’s happening?”

“I think I’m dying again. You might be too.” Castiel pressed his thumbs to the corner of Dean’s eyes. “Look at me. Just look at me.”

“No. No. I just got you back. I--” Dean clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When his gaze returned to Castiel, it was clear. “You’re right. This life isn’t real. I came to find you because--”

The floor cracked. The glasses shattered. The lights burst. The house faded.

Standing in the last patch of light, Castiel pulled Dean closer and did not break his stare. 

“I came to bring you home,” Dean whispered, “but I don’t know how.”

“This is a dream. That means we have to wake up.”

“How?”

“Hold on to what’s real.”

Castiel could hear the Empty calling. He could see the mass of darkness slithering toward him. If this was it, if Castiel was about to be dragged away, it was time to do something that would make him happy. 

Castiel wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist and closed the distance between them. With his other arm, he ran his hand up Dean’s neck, grabbed a fistfull of hair, and brought Dean’s lips to his own. Dean grabbed the lapels of Castiel's coat, pulling him closer, and deepened the kiss. Castiel touched him, tasted him, and ignored the approaching darkness.

The last light flickered. Castiel clung to Dean, clung to the one thing he knew was real, and left behind everything he knew. The last light failed and the dream was over. 

Someone called Castiel’s name over and over. Castiel struggled to raise his head, struggled to break free from the darkness. Goosebumps covered his skin and he shivered, his cold and clammy hands sliding across the chair’s armrests. 

A chair?

“Cas.” A hand touched his face. “I’m sorry, I can’t heal you. You have to get up. We have to leave before she comes back.”

Sparks fluttered up Castiel’s arms, his scant grace attempting to replenish his blood. It was not enough. Castiel barely had enough grace to be called an angel but it allowed him to open his eyes. 

Jack flashed a relieved smile. “Take my arm.”

“Where’s Dean?”

“There.” Jack nodded to the floor beside Castiel’s chair.

Dean lay on a soft rug, blinking up at Sam who leaned over him. While Dean appeared pale, his responses to Sam’s questions were coherent and characteristically annoyed. Castiel knew, if he asked after his well-being, Dean would insist he was fine.

Leaning heavily on Jack’s shoulder, Castiel willed himself to his feet. The resulting vertigo would have knocked him off his feet if it was not for Jack’s support. While Castiel blinked away the spots in his vision, a hand pressed against his back on the opposite side of Jack. Dean brushed his knuckles across Castiel’s jaw and gave a soft smile when Castiel looked up. 

Sam exchanged a glance with Dean then, after their shared nod, raised his knife and gun. He scouted ahead, sticking his head out the door and checking both ways down the hallway. Once Sam indicated the hall was clear, Dean secured his hold on Castiel and urged everyone forward. 

They made it as far as the table before Castiel stumbled. Jack and Dean both tried to stabilize him but pulled in opposite directions. Shaking both of them off, Castiel leaned against the end of the table, his hands clutching the wood on either side of him. Jack backed away easily, though he kept his arms at the ready. Dean, however, hovered over Castiel, his fingers lightly brushing Castiel’s coat sleeve.

Sam walked back into the room. “Hey, we need to--”

“Why?” Amina appeared in the doorway, her face cast in shadow. 

The tension in Dean’s body told Castiel he was about to strike. Castiel grasped Dean’s elbow and gazed up at him. Dean settled and Castiel returned his attention to Amina, trusting Dean to relay his message to the others. 

Amina stepped out of the shadows, her focus entirely on Castiel. “I thought I gave you everything”-- her eyes flicked over to Dean for a split second-- “you wanted.”

“It was only a dream,” Castiel said.

Amina moved further into the room. She raised one hand and cupped Castiel’s face, her touch gentle. Dean bristled beside him but otherwise did nothing.

“I’m sorry.” Amina’s thumb rasped over Castiel’s stubble. “All I wanted was for you to be happy.”

Castiel lowered his eyes, unable to muster even an attempt at a reassuring smile. “That would be most unwise.”

With a sigh, Amina dropped her hand and backed away. She scanned the room, one end to the other, taking stock of all the men ready to kill her. Dean reached into his coat, producing an angel blade. Red light flashed along the metal, reflecting the tapestries in the room.

“Do you think that will work?” Amina asked, genuine curiosity in her voice. 

“It’s my kill everything button,” Dean said.

Sam’s blood-coated blade appeared in Castiel’s peripheral vision. Both brothers were ready to strike and Jack could not be far. Amina crossed her arms and raised her head in challenge. Every person in the room surveyed the room, remaining silent, waiting for someone to strike first. 

Castiel pushed off from the table, planting his feet to keep from wavering, and stood in the middle of the group. The group was full of individuals who came to save him and help him, no matter how misguided that help may have been. None of them deserved to be hurt.

“Return home, Amina,” Castiel said. 

Dean gasped. “You’re just gonna let her go?”

Castiel looked over his shoulder. “Hasn’t enough blood been spilled in my name?”

Dean’s mouth snapped shut. He lowered his angel blade and ran a hand through his hair, casting a glance over to Sam and Jack. 

Amina did not move, regarding Castiel with wide open eyes. “You’d rather be here. You’d rather face the end of the world.”

“It’s real,” Castiel said.

“Goodbye, Cas,” Amina said. “I hope you find what makes you happy.”

Castiel managed a smile this time, but he was unsure if it was convincing. Amina turned on her heel and strode out of the room.

“Wow,” Dean said, coming up behind Castiel, “that was one weird divorce.”

The red tapestries spun around like a nebula. Castiel’s grace sputtered and spat, unable to hold him upright. Three voices called out his name as he went down. Three pairs of hands clutched him before he hit the floor. He had just enough time to think it was nice before everything went dark. 


	4. Bullet with Butterfly Wings

Two days after their return home, Cas still hadn’t moved. Jack assured Dean and Sam that Cas was healing but it was taking far longer than Dean would like. A couple years ago, Cas would have jumped up a few moments after leaving the djinn den, no worse for wear. Dean knew Cas was growing weaker these days but knowing something and seeing something were two very different things.

The clock on Dean’s bedside table told him it was the middle of the night. The bunker appeared the same at that time as it did at three in the afternoon. Underground living really messed with the internal clock, if Dean even had one. 

Dean gave up on trying to sleep. He only headed to bed in the first place to keep Sam off his back. Dean stepped back into his jeans, grabbed the nearest t-shirt to wear, and shoved his feet into his slippers. After that, he walked across the hall to the room he set up for Cas. 

It wasn’t until Dean and Sam, with an unconscious Cas between them, burst into the bunker that Dean realized he never gave Cas a room. He had an entire bunker full of rooms, many of which he hadn’t opened, yet he never gave Cas one. Sure, the guy might not sleep but he could at least have a place to put stuff or watch trash television. Cas could do anything he wanted in there, maybe even call it a home.

For now, however, all Cas had was a hastily made bed that was probably older than Dean, a naked lamp on a cracked nightstand, and a bunch of possibly cursed objects in dusy boxes pushed against the wall. Dean tiptoed into the room and sat in the chair by Cas’s bed that Jack dragged in when they set everything up. Jack must’ve got the same lecture from Sam because every other time Dean checked, Jack was slumped in the chair looking exactly like a guy who had no idea what his soul was doing. 

Dean crossed his arms and leaned back, closing his eyes. His bed was a million times more comfortable but, this way, Dean didn’t have to worry about dragging himself across the hall every couple hours. Each time he woke up, he had to check on Cas before he could sleep again. While Dean would never give his brother the satisfaction of hearing him say it out loud, Sam was right when he said Dean needed rest. Eventually, Dean fell into a fitful sleep. 

When Dean woke up, it was to Cas’s very open, very alert, and very blue eyes shining in the lamplight. Cas smiled more with his eyes than with his mouth and it took everything in Dean not to leap onto the bed and kiss him right there and then. 

“From what I’ve been told,” Cas said, quirking his eyebrow, “beds are much more comfortable to sleep in than chairs.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and, when he opened them again, Cas was still there leaning against the headboard with the sheets pooled around his waist. Stripped down to his white shirt and slacks, Dean had a fantastic view of the muscles usually hidden under all those extra layers. Cas shifted and turned down the covers on the other side of the bed, his shirt straining across his chest. Dean hadn’t managed to close his mouth before Cas’s attention returned to him. Cas gave him the classic head tilt, content, as always, to stare in silence as Dean fought his way out of his own head. 

“This is real,” Cas said.

“Yeah.” Dean leaned forward, running his hands through his hair. “I’m just tired.”

“Which is why you should rest.” Cas pat the empty side of the bed. 

“You want me to sleep _here_?”

“Yes.”

Dean’s room was just across the hall. It would be easy to scoff, stand up, and head to his own bed. It would be easy so, of course, Dean didn’t do that. Instead, he bit back his protests, left the chair, and settled into the empty side of Cas’s bed, jeans and all. Cas didn’t say anything else. He turned off the light, casting the room into complete darkness.

The rusty mattress springs groaned as Dean curled onto his side, attempting to find the least lumpy patch. Exhaustion seeped into his every bone. The events of the last few days and his lack of rest were catching up to Dean. He tucked the sheets under his chin and closed his eyes. 

Cas lay across from Dean, right on the other side of the bed. Dean could extend his arm and touch Cas, just like that. Wow. Dean made that sound so easy. It wasn’t easy. It was the exact opposite of easy. There was a word for that but Dean was too tired to think of it. 

Dean opened his eyes but it made no difference on what he could see. With no windows and the sole lightsource turned off, the room was pitch black. Dean couldn’t see Cas but that didn’t matter. Dean could feel Cas, a few inches away from him, silent and still. If Dean reached out, he could feel if Cas breathed. 

He didn’t reach out. 

He could leave. He could head back to his room. He could sleep on his warm, comfortable, memory foam mattress, rather than some protruding spring. 

He didn’t leave.

He could close his eyes. He could roll over, put his back to Cas, and go to sleep. If he tried hard enough, he could make his mind shut off long enough to catch a couple hours. 

He didn’t close his eyes.

Instead, Dean thought about it. He thought about the djinn dream. He thought about the life the djinn made for Dean and Cas. He thought about the bar, about being on stage, and about their conversation. 

Most of all, he thought about the kiss.

It was everything he wanted and everything he dreamed. No. It was more than that. It was indescribable. Maybe if he finally got some sleep, he could come up with an actual description in the morning.

Dean couldn’t decide if he was freaking out. He was mostly over the whole ‘also attracted to dudes’ thing. Mostly. He was not, however, entirely sure he was over the whole ‘attracted to Cas’ thing. Cas was an angel. Cas was untouchable. Cas was his best friend.

Dean was kinda sorta in love with the guy. Dean dealt with it by _not_ dealing with it and he consoled himself with the idea that Cas wasn’t all that into relationships anyway.

And then Cas had to go and kiss him like _that._ In a damn djinn dream. So now, Dean couldn’t be sure how much of it was outside influence and how much of it was actually Cas. 

Dean was really tired of supernatural assholes trying to control his whole damn life, like he was some kind of rat in a cage.

“Dean.” Cas’s soft voice startled Dean. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t.”

“You were sleeping quite soundly in the chair.”

“You’re right. Maybe I should go back.”

“No, because then you’ll spend an entire week complaining about your stiff neck before you allow me to heal it.” 

While that was entirely true, Dean scoffed. “Well, what about you? You’ve been out a couple days. Do you need more rest?”

“Don’t worry. I should be out in another day.”

A bitter note in Cas’s words made Dean sit up. He wished he could see Cas’s expression and figure out if he imagined it. As it was, Dean had to go by his first instinct. 

Dean reached out.

“Hey.” Dean found Cas’s hand. Before he could think better of it, he threaded their fingers together. “Cas. You know I want you here, right?”

Cas didn’t reply but he didn’t let go of Dean’s hand either. Dean licked his lips and tried to gather thoughts in his overtired brain.

“The bunker’s your home too, you know,” Dean said. “You can have this room. Or you can pick any room you want. You can make it into a place to hang your, uh, trench coat. You can keep your stuff in it-- er, after we get you some stuff-- and I could find you your own TV, maybe a nicer bed. Hell, I’ll buy you a couple of bonsai trees if that’s what you want. Just, uh”-- Dean squeezed Cas’s hand-- “Just stay.”

A long moment passed and Cas didn’t say anything. As far as Dean could tell, nothing had changed. 

“Hey, uh, Cas? I don’t have angel vision. I can’t see you at all so, if you could, like, say something or--”

The bed springs screeched a pointless warning just before Cas wrapped his arms around Dean, pulling them down into the centre of the bed. Dean’s face ended up pressed against Cas’s chest. Once the initial surprise passed, Dean relaxed into the embrace, lining up their bodies and resting his hands on Cas’s back. Dean breathed in Cas, breathed in the rain and thunder scent he always carried around, and closed his eyes. 

Dean full on snuggled his best friend, his angel, the guy he was more than a little bit in love with, and he didn’t freak out. He relaxed, feeling warm and comfortable and safe, wondering why he hadn’t been doing this for years. Bringing Cas even closer, Dean breathed, released the tension in his body, and slept.

* 

For the first time in years, Dean awoke warm and refreshed. He stretched, a satisfying pop in his shoulders making him groan. Since the underground room was as dark as ever, Dean chose to assume it was morning. Dean reached into the other side of the bed, finding it cold and empty.

All traces of sleep gone, Dean sat up in the dark room alone. He stumbled out of bed, holding his hands out before him as he sought out the door. Once he found it, he wretched it open and hurried into his own room. He leaned against the closed door, his heart beating against his chest as if he had just escaped a hungry group of angry hellhounds. 

Well, Cas was up and on the move. That was good. Yeah. That was good. 

Cas damn well better still be in the bunker.

Dean turned on the light and stepped into the room. The clock told him it was way-too-early o’clock but Dean had no desire to go back to sleep. A quick check of his phone told him why: he slept his way through an entire day. No wonder he felt so refreshed. 

Dean took his time choosing a clean set of clothes before heading for the showers. He let the hot water roll down his shoulders as he stared at the tiles. By the time he convinced himself to turn off the tap, it ran cold. 

He dried off, dressed, and spent more time fiddling with his hair than Sam because, yes, he was procrastinating. He didn’t want to face an empty bunker, a bunker that didn’t have Cas. He also didn’t want to walk into the kitchen, find Cas, and not know what to say. Dean promised he would finally tell Cas.

But Dean didn’t know how.

Out of excuses and no longer able to ignore his need for caffeine, Dean left the showers and headed for the kitchen. He didn’t find Cas there but he did find Sam leaning over the sink, filling a glass with water. Sam straightened, sweat darkening the grey of his overpriced gym shirt, and saw Dean staring at him from the entrance. 

“You--” Dean struggled to speak. “You have-- You have a--”

Sam removed his headphones. “What?”

“You have a ponytail.” Dean pointed at Sam, folding over at the waist as he laughed.

“Keeps the hair out of my face.” Sam waited for Dean to recover. Dean wiped the tears out of his eyes and entered the room. When Dean looked up, he noticed Sam watching him with a smile, rather than yet another bitchface. “You’re looking rested. Sleep well?” 

Sam’s tone was innocent. Too innocent. Dean didn’t give him a reaction. 

“Not bad, I guess,” Dean said.

Over his water glass, Sam raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, Cas is in the library. If you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t”

“Sure you weren't.”

Sam drained his glass and placed it in the sink. He didn’t move, chewing on his bottom lip as he studied Dean. Dean resigned himself to the inevitable feelings talk and sat at the kitchen table, staring longingly at the cupboard over Sam’s head where the coffee was stored. 

“Are you ever gonna--” Sam shook his head. “No, never mind. Not my place.”

“What?” Dean drew out the word and did his best impression of a classic Hollywood actress’s swoon. “Since when have you _ever_ let that stop you from sticking your nose in my business?”

“Whatever. Just...” Sam sighed. “You do deserve to be happy, you know? So does Cas. It didn't work out for me but--”

If Dean interrupted now, he would have to admit he knew what Sam insinuated. At the same time, Dean didn’t want to see that look on his brother's face. There was, however, a third option. Dean stepped over to Sam, leaned into his sweaty face, and sniffed.

“Dude.” Dean held his nose with one hand and gave an over-exaggerated wave with the other. “You stink.”

Bitchface number one: all-purpose. Good. That would keep Sam from sliding down that slippery slope. Sam rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. 

“Ugh. You’re right,” Sam said.

Dean waved as Sam left the room. With Sam out of the way, Dean hummed a tuneless victory cheer as he reached for the coffee. He shoved aside the cheap store brand he used and grabbed the expensive bag Dean bought because Cas wanted it. Dean then dug out the damn grinder he purchased the same day because Cas, obviously, needed to pick the whole bean stuff. All of this was way too much effort for Dean, especially early in the morning. Dean did it anyway because it was just the way Cas liked it. 


	5. Starseed

Castiel fought many battles in Heaven, in Hell, and on Earth. Castiel experienced the heights and depths of humanity. Castiel lived and died and lived again. All of it shaped him. All of it taught him. All of it was difficult.

None of it, however, was as difficult as leaving bed that morning. 

It took a long time for Castiel to gather the will to leave. The door opened and closed twice. The people who opened the door said nothing, nor did they enter the room. Castiel did not greet them, or look up. He kept his eyes closed and listened to Dean, nestled in his chest, breathe softly.

Dean needed the rest. He was under the djinn’s thrall for days and Castiel knew, from his years of experience, that it was impossible to make Dean stop before he collapsed out of stubborness and exhaustion. Each time Castiel attempted to move away, Dean muttered unhappy sounds and tightened his grip on Castiel. Castiel could break away with little effort, but that little effort became an insurmountable endeavor when he saw Dean’s peaceful, sleeping face. 

Castiel could not have this. Castiel could not be present when Dean woke up. Castiel should never have made the suggestion that put him in this situation in the first place.

In his defense, Castiel had not expected Dean to actually stay. 

Castiel detangled his and Dean’s limbs and embarked on the long, cold walk down the hallway. 

No one was around. Dean was asleep. Sam was likely on his morning run. When he checked Jack's door on the way to the library, he heard the opening notes of the Star Wars theme playing within. His family was safe in the bunker. They were home. 

Castiel had to make sure it stayed that way. He had to be alive and on Earth to make sure that happened. 

When he reached the library, Castiel browsed the shelves, glancing over each title but absorbing none of the words. He felt Sam peek around the corner but he refused to break his stare on the untitled spine of a cracked leather bound tome. He sensed Sam hovering nearby, heard his intake of breath as if he were about to speak and the unbroken silence that followed. By the time Castiel looked up, Sam was long gone. 

Castiel heard the brothers’ voices floating from the kitchen, fuzzy and indistinct. Perhaps his senses were waning along with his grace. He tried not to think too hard about it.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Castiel waited for them to fade before he exited the library, intending to lose himself in the endless, winding bunker passageways. Instead, he stopped in front of the kitchen, catching the aroma of fresh coffee. 

He paused in the doorway long enough for Dean to notice him. Dean’s smile when he locked eyes with Castiel broke any notion, any resolve, he had to hide. Castiel joined Dean in the kitchen. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean said, rifling through the cabinets to produce a pair of mugs. “Did you know that Sam wears a ponytail? _Willingly_?”

Castiel had no answer but Dean did not appear as if he expected one. Dean carried the mugs over to the coffee pot and filled both. He returned to Castiel, who stood by the counter. Castiel took his mug, the one with the painted flowers, from Dean’s extended hand.

“I hear you’ve been making the coffee.” Dean stirred sugar into his own drink. “So, I figured I’d pick up the slack this morning.”

The coffee smelled rich and strong. The heat emulating from the mug warmed Castiel's hands. The simple, smooth taste satisfied, even with his angelic senses. 

“See?” Dean drained the last of his coffee before setting it on the counter with a soft clink. “Good, right?” 

“Yes.” Castiel set his own mug aside, still steaming. “Thank you.”

Dean’s eyes crinkled at the corners as his smile widened. Castiel was pleased to notice that Dean’s ever present dark circles had faded significantly. The easy air, the simple camaraderie, that Dean and Castiel had been fighting to find again returned as they stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with scant distance between them. Castiel wanted to stay in that moment as long as he could because he and the Winchesters rarely, if ever, could enjoy peace.

“You look good.” Dean’s gaze flicked down to Castiel’s lips before his eyes darted away. Dean cleared his throat and became preoccupied with picking at an imperfection on the counter. “Um, I mean that you, uh, are up and walking around all healthy-like.” 

“I’m well--”

“Are you? I mean, it took you days to recover.”

“--given the circumstances.”

“Right, sure, circumstances.” Dean crossed his arms, worrying the hem of his t-shirt sleeve. “You’re sure?”

“I’m fine.” Castiel grabbed Dean’s shoulder, feeling the tension in his body. “What about you? You were just as affected by the djinn as me.” 

“Nothing my ridiculously long nap didn’t fix.” 

“I believe by the fourth hour it’s known as sleep.”

“Fourth hour is the cutoff, huh?” Dean huffed out an amused sound and lowered his arms. “Okay, there’s something I want to ask.”

“Of course.”

“That was your dream life? The big house. The fancy job. The, the”-- Dean licked his lips-- “the wife. That’s what you dream of?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Then why’d she pick that?”

Castiel let go of Dean then faced the counter, resting his forearms against the surface. “It was less what constructed the dream and more what feelings the dream attempted to evoke.”

“Feelings?”

Castiel folded his hands together, turning his thumbs around one another in a circle. The gesture came to him naturally, with little thought, an outward action to hint at his internal thoughts. When did he become so human?

“Home. Stability.” Castiel clenched his hands into fists. “Love.”

The bunker was always quiet in the morning. Castiel was used to that. Castiel was not used to all-encompassing silence when Dean stood next to him. Staring down at his hands as he clenched and unclenched them, Castiel regretted his unfiltered answer. He wanted to be honest. He wanted Dean to know but he was not sure saying it out loud was wise.

“Hey.” Dean pressed against Castiel’s side, one hand coming to rest over Castiel’s fists. “I was serious. This is your home.”

Castiel stilled under Dean's touch and nodded, not daring to look up. Dean pat Castiel on the back and backed away. He did not go far. Castiel could feel him, only a step behind, waiting for Castiel’s next action. 

Castiel turned around, pressing his back against the counter. He did not meet Dean’s eyes. “It was just a dream.”

“All of it?” Dean closed the distance between them. “This wasn’t my first djinn rodeo. They’re just dreams, sure, but usually there’s a reason they’re like that. Usually there’s something that’s real.”

Castiel looked up then, Dean’s warm green eyes compelling him to speak aloud. “We are.”

For a long moment, Dean did not move. For the next long moment, Dean blinked rapidly. For the long moment after that, Dean, every action slow and deliberate, cupped Castiel’s face in his hands and leaded forward, his eyes asking for permission. Weak person he was, and even weaker angel, Castiel did not last a moment. Castiel tilted his head back and nodded. Dean wasted no time, pressing his lips against Castiel’s, his touch soft and gentle. Wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist, Castiel brought Dean closer. 

Castiel wanted to stay in that moment as long as he could because Castiel was a selfish being. The end of the world was on its way, again, possibly for the last time, but the world was not falling apart around them yet. It was only a moment, a single moment Castiel stretched as long as he could, and the world could wait. 

The world could wait one moment. The mission could wait one moment. The moment belonged to Castiel, a single pause in time where he could do what he wanted, could have what he dreamed, could be happy.

Castiel broke away and buried his head into the junction between Dean’s neck and shoulder. Castiel could not have this but he was not ready to let it go. 

“Cas?” Dean brushed his hand through Castiel’s hair. “Everything alright?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done this. This isn’t fair to you.”

“What are you saying?”

“I can’t do this.”

He wanted to. He wanted to for years. He never thought he could, not until Dean kissed him back in the dream, and that made it even more difficult to lift his head and look into Dean’s stricken face. 

“Seriously? After everything? After the dream and after-- after _this_ , you--” Dean’s words were not angry. They were broken. Somehow, that made it worse. “Did I screw this up?”

Of course Dean would take it as a personal failure. He always blamed himself. Castiel wished he could explain. He wished he could tell Dean being together would make him so happy and that was why Castiel had to walk away. Dean had enough burdens to carry. Castiel did not consider his deal with the Empty worthy of the Winchester's attention. It did not disrupt the mission. The Empty would not claim Castiel until Chuck was defeated. Castiel would not leave Earth until he was certain his family was safe. Until then, Castiel needed to remain on guard. 

But only until then.

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Dean made no move to break free of Castiel’s arms around his waist. He waited for Castiel to continue. “I can’t do this right now. We need to focus on defeating Chuck. We need to prepare and I need--” Castiel swallowed. “This isn’t a rejection.”

“Sure feels like one.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Dean took a deep shuddering breath. “So, once this is over--”

“I will listen to anything you have to say.”

“Okay.” Dean smiled. It was fragile. “I mean I waited more then ten years to tell you. What’s a couple more, right?” Dean raised his hand, but stopped short of touching Castiel’s face. He pulled away from Castiel. Castiel let him go. “I’m, uh, gonna go see what Sam’s doing.” 

As if he were in a daze, Dean wandered toward the door. He paused in the threshold and thumped his hand against the frame, leaning heavily against it with his shoulders slumped. 

“Dean?” Castiel called from his place by the counter. 

“That song.” Dean raised his head and looked over his shoulder at Castiel. “I didn’t actually write it-- that’d be weird-- but what you said--”

“It was true.”

It was hard to tell with Dean’s back to him but Castiel thought he saw the muscles in his shoulders relax. Dean nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you around, right, Cas? We still gotta fix up your room.”

Castiel’s own shoulders relaxed. “Of course, Dean.” 

One day, perhaps, Castiel would not have to watch Dean walk away. One day, perhaps, Castiel would not have to leave Dean behind.

One day.

The coffee in Castiel’s mug was still warm. Alone in the bunker’s kitchen, Castiel sipped it. 

Coffee made by Dean.

Just the way Castiel liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the chapters are named after a song. The artists are:  
> 1\. Talking Heads  
> 2\. Led Zeppelin  
> 3\. Pink Floyd  
> 4\. The Smashing Pumpkins  
> 5\. Our Lady Peace  
> And the fic title comes from the one and only Prince.
> 
> Thank you for all of your comments and kudos! They make my day. You all rock!
> 
> Til next time.


End file.
